Pith
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: George Weasley falls in love with a shy gardener. SLASH George Weasley/Neville Longbottom


**Pith**

~000~

_Pith: the soft, sponge-like substance in the center of stems and branches of many plants; the central or essential part; heart._

~000~

George knew he was a disappointment to his mother, though she never said anything about it. Here he was, thirty years old, and the last of the Weasley boys to remain single. Even Charlie had sold out last spring and married some crazy purple-haired girl from his Dragon Preserve. Not that he had a problem with Hortense. She was a very nice girl when she wasn't trying to set things on fire or making out with his brother in front of him.

But the so-called problem of his singlehood couldn't be solved by the right girl. No, it wouldn't be solved until he met the right _boy, _and that solution by its very nature forced it into secrecy. It wasn't that his parents were bigoted or homophobic. They were very open-minded people, for wizards. But he knew all too well how things changed when it was _their _son and not someone else's who decided to carry on with other men. And the last thing he wanted was to hear a bunch of Pseudo-Freudian bullshit about how his desire for a male partner was merely a mask for his desire to replace his twin.

He supposed he should stop worrying about it so much. He had never had a serious relationship with a man and didn't know if he ever would. He was attracted to men, yes, but the vast majority of them seemed to be total wankers. And the ones that weren't were either straight or committed to someone else. The world was full of Mr. Wrong and Mr. Good for a Shag but Otherwise Useless.

That is, that was the opinion he held until he reencountered Neville Longbottom.

He remembered Neville from school, sure, as a tubby-tummy nice boy with a knack for plants but not much else. He'd heard from Ron that Neville was a total disaster in Potions and incapable of piloting a broom. He also remembered him a little bit from the War, when he'd blossomed from a sensitive youth into a tough guy and done some serious damage right up there with Harry and Ron and Hermione. He'd still been a little tubby at the time, though.

Overall, he was the average non-threatening nice boy.

So when Harry tipped him off to some new hybrids Neville had been breeding that might work well as ingredients for new products, he dutifully wrote down the green house address and said he'd look into it sometime. He didn't attach any special interest to the prospect other than a second of wonder about how Neville had turned out. Half a year went by before he came across the address again in a pile of bills and decided that he might as well visit and see what there was to see. Ideas had been slow this month, anyhow.

Things were slower without Fred around, but he'd gotten used to working alone by now and knew how to pace himself so he didn't end up with huge dry spells of inspiration. Outside sources like this could be a life saver.

~000~

The greenhouse was huge. Harry hadn't told him that it was a bona fide research facility, or that it was so big it had its own coffee canteen attached. He stopped in there and ordered a latte before he went inside the greenhouse proper. He'd gone out last night and tried to find someone worth going home with, to get some small relief from his permanent single-hood, to no avail. He was dead on his feet.

The barista was female, unfortunately, though she still flirted with him.

Coffee in hand, he sauntered idly into the greenhouse, looking around for a chubby man with curly blonde hair. He saw the usual assortment of long-haired hippie types, most of them female and wearing a yin-yang somewhere on their bodies, and old-fashioned male gardeners of the style that had mostly disappeared at the turn of the century. Some of them were even smoking pipes, as if they were time travelers and only pretending to be modern. He estimated that there were about thirty people working there that he could see.

He didn't see anyone fitting what he remembered Neville's description to be. He was about to give up and ask someone when he saw a man emerge from the back room holding a large gleaming shovel. He was tall and generously proportioned but certainly not fat. And he had longish blonde hair that needed cutting. His hair was saved from its disorder by his curls, but there was a great deal of it and from time to time he gave a portion of it a powerful tug, as though to brighten his wits.

George raised his hand and waved to get his attention. Neville noticed and came over. He wore a white flannel shirt with his muddy chinos. It was pristine save for some streaks of brown earth on the cuffs.

"George Weasley! Of all the people in the world I did not expect to see _you."_

His voice was so soft it seemed rather like a subtle touch, like the merest touch of a mouse's paw, a sensation rather than a sound. George was mesmerized by the sound of it. He couldn't remember hearing Neville speak before. He'd been a quiet kid.

Neville stabbed the shovel into an empty pot at their feet and held out his hand. George shook it and took pleasure in the very solid calluses he felt there. You didn't find a lot of men with hands like that anymore. Everyone had soft hands these days, like girls. Neville was only a few inches shorter than him, but that difference wouldn't have given George any advantage in a fight. Neville's forearms were almost twice the size of George's biceps.

He noticed that there was a leaf caught in his hair. He pointed it out and Neville flushed, fumbling at his hair trying to find it. George took pity on him and fished it out for him. Neville flushed deeper, the pink cheeks at complete odds with his hulking physique. He fidgeted with his hands before shoving them into his pockets. George found Neville's nervous little gestures endearing. He began to mentally make a list of excuses to visit the greenhouse, much against the logical part of his brain that tried to point out that, for all he knew, Neville was married; and to a woman, most likely.

"So, uh, it's great to see you, but I'm sure you didn't just come here to say hello. What can I do for you?"

George wanted to say something x-rated but caught himself just in time and instead said, "Harry told me a while ago that you might have some plants for sale that I could use for my experiments."

"Oh. Ah, let me think about which ones those would be."

He lifted his eyes to the glass panels of the ceiling and hummed a little, thinking. He smiled suddenly and looked back down at George.

"I remember now. If you'll follow me, I'll show them to you. It will be easier for me to 'sell' their good qualities if you can see them with your own eyes."

George willingly followed him, only keeping his eyes where they belonged through exertion of willpower he didn't know he had. Who was this garden god and what had he done with the fuzzy kid from Hogwarts?

Neville said a quiet hello to a woman with a braid down to her knees. She chirped something friendly back and pinched his arm. George wondered if she was Neville's girlfriend. Just because Neville didn't dress like a hippie didn't mean he wasn't dating one, and the girl wasn't bad-looking.

The plants were grouped together in a separate box. He raised his eyebrows when the normal-looking flowering bush suddenly spat ink on Neville. Neville chuckled and stroked its branches.

A vine separated itself from the bush and twined over Neville's fingers while he launched into a lecture of the various plants: how they'd been bred, what they could do, what kind of care they needed, preserving tips, and basic warnings.

George didn't hear a word of it. He was completely transfixed by the sight of what should have been clumsy hands moving gracefully to amuse the vine curling over it.

When Neville stopped talking he had the sense to ask him if he had that same information written down somewhere, and if so would he mind if George copied it for his records?

Thankfully the answer was yes to both questions, and Neville left him alone with the plants to go get them. George was nervous at first, but then the bush squirted him and he realized that the ink-like liquid was sweet and a little sticky. It was perfect; for what he didn't know yet, but he trusted his creative unconscious. Adopting these new plants before they really hit the market was a shrewd move on his part because it would allow him to make products that his competitors couldn't even imagine yet.

He began to feel excited and followed his brain's lead as it flashed different theories and ideas to try regarding what little he'd processed about the plants.

Neville returned, smiling, and handed over the notes. George skimmed the parts about care, decided he could handle it, and said, "When can I purchase them?"

"Oh, um, now, I guess."

Neville left again to get the monetary records.

The vine curled without warning around George's thigh, close to his groin, and showed no signs of leaving. George swallowed, nervous, and quickly read the warnings about the vine. He was relieved when he read that behavior like this was just a sign that the vine liked him.

The warnings also said that removing the vine before it was ready was a bad idea as the vine would interpret his actions as rejection and wither from sadness.

Neville returned. He noticed the vine and gave George a sunny smile paired with mischievous eyes.

"I see that you two are getting along _just fine."_

"Piss off," George retorted.

Neville just grinned at him, showing off nicely-shaped teeth. He held out the receipt for George to sign. The plants didn't cost nearly what he thought they would. Against his better judgment he commented on it and got a blush from Neville.

"I…I gave you a discount. You know; because of the War."

"The War Time discount?"

"Right."

They smiled awkwardly at each other. Neville fidgeted and then offered to help George take the plants to wherever he would be housing them if George would wait a minute for him to tell Matilda where he was going.

George made the obligatory protests and let them be waved away with the usual obligatory charitableness.

In no time at all he was holding open the door to his personal flat and laboratory for Neville. Neville helped him rearrange his window treatments to let in the appropriate amount of light and advised George about the benefits of automatic drape-opening techniques that would ensure that his plants got the benefit of the sunrise.

Finally he wrote down his personal contact information and earnestly informed George, pink-cheeked again, that, "I would be happy to answer any questions or concerns you have. And if they get too cheeky with you, just let me know and I'll come over and make sure they know to respect you properly."

"Thanks so much," George smiled, unable to help himself from putting special emphasis on the words. The pink heightened and then, after a desperate moment of fidgeting, Neville clapped him on the shoulder and left.

~000~

With red but well-shaped hands Neville gently packed earth around the roots of a plant George didn't recognize. His soft voice explained all the while the special minerals that the soil had been enriched with. George, squatting on the dirt-strewn floor beside him, watched in fascination. Neville spoke with disarming honesty but avoided eye contact, as though talking about his work were somehow embarrassing.

George had taken to 'dropping in' at the greenhouses. He came usually once or twice a week. Ostensibly he came to admire and inspect Neville's progress in cross-breeding, but he also came to admire Neville himself.

There was something about Neville. Like the animated vine that George had bought during his first visit, Neville had a way of quietly wrapping tendrils of himself around George's heart. He couldn't quite describe what it was that drew him to Neville. He had always favored flashy partners before, people that liked to party and have fun. Neville was so steady and so diligent; he was like a relic from a simpler age.

Neville finished potting the plant and asked George if he was interested in buying it in its current stage of development, or if he'd rather wait until Neville had tinkered a bit more.

"Well, I'm not herbologist. What do you think would be best?"

Neville shrugged, "Obviously I would like to continue meddling, but it's really a matter of what your needs are. Can you make something marketable with him?"

George thought about it for a moment. "I honestly would need a few days to troubleshoot some ideas. Can I get back to you?"

"Sure; I have plenty of other projects to keep me busy, and a few days rest can't hurt."

After a few more pleasantries, George stood to leave. He had two capable clerks, but when one owned a joke shop, it was not wise to leave it unattended for too long. Neville stood as well. George wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but he thought that Neville looked sorry to see him go.

"I guess that I'll see you later…"

George smiled up at him. He had an idea.

"It doesn't have to be later. Look, you know loads more about this plant than I do. How about coming out to dinner with me tonight and talking about some ideas? I won't keep you out too late; I know you get up early."

Neville hesitated only for the barest moment before nodding. He was pink and looked pleased. "That's a good idea. Um, what sort of restaurant would we be attending? I need to lay out clothes…"

George had only seen Neville in his gardening uniform of chinos and flannel shirts until now. His brain nearly had an infarction when he realized that he had the power to make Neville wear just about anything. A million fantasies raced through his mind in a matter of seconds, but all had to be rejected on the basis of unfeasibility.

"Oh, nowhere fancy. Ginny takes me to this little bistro in the Alley sometimes that I think you might like. They use a wide array of rare produce. There's no need for fancy dress."

Neville looked relieved. "Oh good! I don't have a lot of nice clothes. What time?"

They worked out the details, and then parted ways.

George knew that he was only teasing himself if Neville didn't actually fancy him, but there was always a chance that Neville did have feelings for him. George wanted more than anything to be with Neville. He knew instinctively that a life partnered to Neville would be infinitely superior to a life with anyone else.

~000~

Neville was simply dressed in a pair of brown trousers and a thick-knit teal sweater that looked decidedly hand-made. George suspected his Gran, but felt a wild wave of jealousy at the faintest possibility that the sweater might have been from an old girlfriend.

Neville glowed at him over dinner. He was quiet, as always, but George did manage to pry him into opening up a little more than usual. He even managed to work out a few details of his personal life.

After dessert, they stood in the street with their hands in their pockets and smiling at each other.

"This was fun," Neville said quietly, "I'd like to do it again."

A surge of courage inspired George to ask, "Which part? The working dinner or spending time with me?"

Neville's eyes, which had drifted to the cobblestones, snapped up. There was an edge of panic, but behind it there was unmistakable hope.

"I…George…what are you asking me?"

George bit his lip and took a step nearer. He took his hands out of his pockets and reached hesitantly for Neville. Neville copied him and held both of George's hands. He surprised George by meeting his eyes steadily, breaking his habit of avoiding eye contact.

"Neville, you are a wonderful person. I admire you more than I admire any other individual, and I want to…I hope that you will accept my feelings for you."

Neville smiled. He didn't say anything, only leaned in and kissed George.

Nothing more was said. There was nothing else to say.

~000~

Neville's research facility partnered with George's joke shop in order to more evenly split resources and profits. This partnership happened to coincide with Neville moving into George's apartment.

~000~

End Pith

Note: I know that this story won't get a lot of views, much less reviews, because it is a rare pairing. But it's a _good _pairing and I think it deserves to be written. (Hint)


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